


shards (dreamnotfound)

by sprayonwrappingpaper



Category: Dreamwastaken, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, dnf - Fandom, dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28808568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprayonwrappingpaper/pseuds/sprayonwrappingpaper
Summary: a simple chore. a simple accident. something so little sparking one thing after another. reflections multiply and engulf their surroundings in their light. like a shard of glass. like a shard of glass on pavement. from a broken window.(i dont know how to write descriptions HEKPSKPDSL)(this same story is also on wattpad, that is also me)
Relationships: Dnf - Relationship, dreamnotfound - Relationship
Kudos: 28





	shards (dreamnotfound)

**Author's Note:**

> A brief clarification before we begin..
> 
> There are a few things I should make clear. First of all, I don’t actually ship DNF. I am writing this solely for 3 reasons: creative writing practice, excruciating boredom, and for the “clout” to be perfectly honest. Secondly, this is not meant to breach any creator’s boundaries. If they make any statements opposing this kind of work, I will take it down and make an apology. Thirdly, as with all fanfiction, this is fiction, as the name suggests of course. I am more creating new characters off of them rather than making it about them as human beings. I don't want these events to happen in real life. Also, just to mention, Dream will be solely referred to as “Dream”. This is entirely for fun. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (there will be 0 NSFW in this entire story, so no need to worry)

Chapter 1

The sound of glass shattering erupted through the cobblestone streets as glistening shards flew through the air, the moonlight reflecting off of the small pieces. Stunning reflections draped over the stones for a brief moment, before falling with their glass counterparts. They lay nearly still on the rocks, with a slight sway from the wind. The razor sharp edges glistened, reminding a nonexistent audience of their danger. Small fragments of menace interrupting the peace of the night, yet somehow contributing to an eerie calm. Slivers of pure shine contrasted the monotone of the stones surrounding them. But the glass shards did not come from the abyss of the hour. The source of this disruption was attruptuted to a small window frame on the top floor of a building with eroding bricks and paint chipped off its brims. Nobody was around to witness this accident, except for the very cause. A man with brunette hair, fawn skin, and sunset pink cheeks leaned out of his flaking window frame, a bewildered expression on his face as he looked at the slivers of reflection on the pavement. His breath rose in a white steam in the cool, night air, eventually fading away into the nonexistent starlight. His eyes had a distinctively annoyed look to them. The situation felt unfair. The window was enormous, and was one of the few good qualities of the apartment. This annoyance was driven further by the fact he knew he could not replace it himself. The man let out a small grunt of annoyance and pushed himself back inside. The room he now resided in was pale and dull. Very little lined the walls except for the fairly outdated wallpaper and the wash of the light from the fluorescent bulbs poorly attached to the ceiling. The apartment was large enough to not feel homely but small enough to feel cramped and claustrophobic. As he stepped back into the center of the room, the target of the breakage became apparent; his curtain pole had come loose and swung towards the delicate glass of the window. The man looked at the opening, now only lined with points of the broken material, with a tired expression. His eyes seemed as if they were encouraging themself to be annoyed, but the mind of the man could not muster the effort to care. He let out a heavy sigh and stepped towards his bed. He snatched a blanket from the mattress and swung it over his shoulder. He walked over to his desk and carelessly grabbed a handful of wall pins, not minding their points digging into his soft hands. He began to hang up the blanket, stretching it over the rip in the barrier between comfort and the outside world. The wind lashed on his face, making the hairs on his neck rise. Goosebumps. He suddenly felt them on every inch of his body. Tiny pricks of feeling reminding him something wasn't right. He paused, his mind abandoning the task at hand. He was thrust out of his dissociative state by reminding him something was off in his repetitive routine. It was simply a broken window, but it was enough to temporarily bring him out of a mindless haze. Of course, this feeling was over momentarily. His rational thought opposed this awakening with the irony of the situation. It's a broken window, something nearly every person has to deal with at least once in their life. His focus returned and he resumed covering the gap. After the task was finished, he returned to bed. He could not get comfortable. Despite his efforts, the wind still creeped into his room and chilled his spine, and of course, he had one less blanket to combat the breeze. Yet he squeezed his eyes shut, motivated by the prospect that he could get the window fixed soon. This later struck the thought that his landlord would not cover the damages, under the idea it was his fault that the property was damaged. Prices swam around his head, stressing him out further as they got higher and higher. He abruptly sat up, unable to deal with the silence prompting his worry. He grabbed his cellphone from the table sat beside his bed and navigated through the glowing screen. His slender fingertips eventually brought him to his limited library of music. He tapped one last button and a song began to play. He could not bother to read the name. He didn't care, He lay his head down once more as the instruments began to play and weave together. The sounds of an acoustic guitar, a violin, a bass, began to wrap around his headspace. They wove through every aspect of his mind, leaving them at rest. The man began to feel his eyes flutter close, and he was engulfed by the darkness of his own body. The instruments began to blend together into one, warm collective, wrapping around him and giving him comfort. He felt as if each note was a candle flame, the light of it flickering and engulfing every curve, every divet, every vein of his freezing body. The darkness of sleep began to wash in like a glistening black ocean, and soon, he was entirely unconscious. The song ended, leaving the only sounds to be the gradually slowing wind and his slow, soft breathing. 

He woke up in a start as his blaring alarm clock punctured his brain. Every beep felt like a knife straight into the back of his scalp. He angrily smashed the device until his hand finally met the button that stopped the noise. As soon as it was over, silence draped over the room. He let out a sigh and got out of bed. He was pleasantly surprised when he realised he was off of work that day. It left a perfect time to contact someone about his damn window. While the wind had mostly subsided, the morning autumn chill still invaded the room. He looked at the gap in the wall with disgust. He nearly instantly pushed aside these feelings, reminding himself he could get it fixed. Unfortunately, the worry about the entire ordeal from the previous night sunk down on him again. His bank account would definitely suffer from the hiring. But he figured it was that or never feel comfortable in his apartment again. He walked across the small room, his feet sinking into the musty mahogany carpet. He sat down in his wooden chair and winced at the loud creak it created. He grabbed his laptop from his backpack and graciously placed it on the table. He opened that, and his eyes twitched at the fluorescent lights blaring into their sockets. He placed his fingers on his eyelids and rubbed aggressively, to the point where when he put his fingers aside, spots clouded his vision. His hands began to fly across the keyboard. He paused. He didn't know where to even start. He had never gotten anything repaired professionally before. He hesitantly typed “window fix”. Several companies popped up, and his eyes flew to the one at the top. It was not very far from his complex, not even 5 miles. He clicked on the options and began surfing the website. The only significant information that showed up was a phone number to call if you were to make an appointment. He felt a clasp suddenly surround his chest. He hated phone calls. But every chill he felt from the air outside made him more motivated to fix his damn window. He pulled out his phone and his eyes flashed between the screens as he punched in the numbers. The dreaded ringing sound echoed across the walls, He felt his grip on the phone tighten. Suddenly the sound stopped, and he nearly threw his phone across the room in surprise. A voice filled up the speakers. It sounded masculine and deep, and had just the tiniest hint of rasp to it.  
“Hello? This is Greenyouth Glass Works,” the voice said, with a hint of forced cheerfulness. It was very clear that the worker had no more desire to have been woken up than he did. He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding in and responded.  
“Yes, Hello, I’d like to make an appointment for window repair?” the worker paused, and the soft sound of a mouse clicking went through the speaker.  
“Ah yes, we have open times all day from 10am-6pm” they finally said, clearly reciting a script they had recited hundreds of times,  
He thought for a second, and looked down at himself. There were food stains littering his old t-shirt, and his sweatpants draped awkwardly over his slim legs. He shuddered at the thought of another human being seeing him like this.  
“Uh, tomorrow is fine.” he answered at last.  
He and the worker began to discuss the dimensions of the window. After the worker heard the size of the window, he said in an exasperated tone that he would likely need assistance retrieving it and would have to travel there. The man felt guilt arise in his stomach for overworking their underpaid worker. But before he knew it, it was entirely arranged. Finally, the worker asked,  
“So can i get your name?”  
“George.”  
“Cool. I’m Dream.”

(end)

(authors note:  
I am so tired rn i have school tomorrow i should go to sleep(


End file.
